One learns better than to hand one’s choices to fear. With age, with every wound and scar, one learns.
You don’t pay back your parents. You can’t. The debt you owe them gets collected by your children, who hand it down in turn. It’s a sort of entailment. Or if you don’t have children of the body, it’s left as a debt to your common humanity. Or to your God, if you possess or are possessed by one. The family economy evades calculation in the gross planetary product. It’s the only deal I know where, when you give more than you get, you aren’t bankrupted – but rather, vastly enriched.
His outflung hands traced over the threads of his rug, passed loop by loop through some patient woman’s hands. Or maybe she hadn’t been patient. Maybe she’d been tired, or irritated, or distracted, or hungry, or angry. Maybe she had been dying. But her hands had kept moving, all the same.
Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands and take it when it runs by.
Arithmetic is numbers you squeeze from your head to your hand to your pencil to your paper till you get the answer.
The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.
Art is consumed in so many different ways. You could say people don’t stop to appreciate art. On the other hand, people can consume art more quickly. Twitter, videos posted online – how do you utilize that? How do you identify yourself as an individual when you’re sitting at this massive dinner table of the world with everyone on, from Kansas to Dubai?
Art is consumed in so many different ways. You could say people don’t stop to appreciate art. On the other hand, people can consume art more quickly.
In the hands of a people whose education has been willfully neglected, the ballot is a cunning swindle benefitting only the united barons of industry, trade and property.
I was slinging whatever I could get my hands on. Whether it was chronic, whether it was crack.
My whole staff love to laugh and count the money. On the couch, hands in our pants like Al Bundy.
Don’t give me paper – I can get the same lawyer who drew it up to break it. But if you shake my hand, that’s for life.
I’ve always had an artistic hand. I took on paint when I started falling in love with the abstract expressionists. I approached it from a physical standpoint, but I’ve also been honing my compositional eye through film.
I actually got to perform for Queen Elizabeth, and I got to meet her after the show. She said she thought my performance was beautiful and I got to shake her hand and it was just an incredible moment.
A young musician plays scales in his room and only bores his family. A beginning writer, on the other hand, sometimes has the misfortune of getting into print.
Every life is punctuated by deaths and departures, and each one causes great suffering that it is better to endure rather than forgo the pleasure of having known the person who has passed away. Somehow our world rebuilds itself after every death, and in any case we know that none of us will last forever. So you might say that life and death lead us by the hand, firmly but tenderly.
We think work with the brain is more worthy than work with the hands. Nobody who thinks with his hands could ever fall for this.
Be you own hero, be your own saviour, send all your suffering into the fire. Let no foot, mark your ground, let no hand, hold you down.
If you hand me a guitar, I’ll play the blues. That’s the place I automatically go.
Would you know my name If I saw you in heaven Will it be the same If I saw you in heaven I must be strong, and carry on Cause I know I don’t belong Here in heaven Would you hold my hand If I saw you in heaven Would you help me stand If I saw you in heaven I’ll find my way, through night and day Cause I know I just can’t stay Here in heaven
I’m a real person, and I’m angry. I’m trying to use this celebrity thing to get people some help. AIDS, poverty, racism – I want to be one of the hands that helps stop all that. I’ll put it on my shoulders. I’ll charge it to my account.
I’ve had many enemies over the years. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s never engage in a fight you’re sure to lose. On the other hand, never let anyone who has insulted you get away with it. Bide your time and strike back when you’re in a position of strength—even if you no longer need to strike back.
She saw him drenched with gasoline. She could actually feel the box of matches in her hand.
Extend your hand with the strongest reach.
Intentions are a lot like seeds. You shove them into the ground, and every once in awhile, you water them. Largely, the seed does most of the work on its own. If, on one hand, you were digging the seed up several times a day to see what progress was being made, the seed would not take purchase in the soil. On the other hand, if you completely ignored it, giving no water or nourishment to the soil, the seed might not thrive.
Pick up a stone that feels good to you and is small enough to hold in one hand. Consider how long that stone has been around and what enormous pressure it has experienced. Draw strength from its long history.
BUILD UP YOUR CIRCLE…. A mind that perceives What can rationally be. A spirit that sees Innovative possibility. A heart that is open to Both beginnings and ends. A firm hand that fits readily To the reach of a friend.
Homeopathy may be defined as a specious mode of doing nothing. While it waits on the natural progress of disease and the restorative tendence of nature on the one hand, or the injurious advance of disease on the other, it supplies the craving for activity, on the part of the patient and his friends, by the formal and regular administration of nominal medicine. Although homeopathy will, at some future time, be classed with historical delusions.
Consciously, distinctly, resolutely, habitually, we need to give ourselves, our business, our interests, our families, our affections, into the Spirit’s hands, to lead and fashion us as He will. When we work with the current of that Divine will, all is vital, efficient, fruitful.
I have my hands full with my kids and so romance is not high on my list of priorities.
I didn’t respond well to a firm hand and insults.
She turns to us, acts surprised to see us, then does the bit with the back of the hand to the forehead. "You’re lost!" "You’re angry!" "You’re in the wrong school!" "You’re in the wrong country!" "You’re on the wrong planet!
Picasso.” He whispers like a priest. “Picasso. Who saw the truth. Who painted the truth, molded it, ripped from the earth with two angry hands.
Grandma frowned and yelled something in Russian. She could have been saying, ‘Open up, your best friend is here.’ On the other hand, it could have been, ‘America is a great country because of canned ravioli.
I know my head isn’t screwed on straight. I want to leave, transfer, warp myself to another galaxy. I want to confess everything, hand over the guilt and mistake and anger to someone else. There is a beast in my gut, I can hear it scraping away at the inside of my ribs. Even if I dump the memory, it will stay with me, staining me. My closest is a good thing, a quiet place that helps me hold these thoughts inside my head where no one can hear them.